


Relations

by venndaai



Category: Alliance-Union - C. J. Cherryh
Genre: Abusive Parents, Codependency, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Yuletide Treat, sci fi ptsd, the usual content warnings for these characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 00:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17152136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/pseuds/venndaai
Summary: ‘Brothers,' Justin had called them sometimes, when they were growing up. It was only ever from Justin. Jordan carefully avoided the word, though it took Grant a while to notice.





	Relations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lurknomoar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurknomoar/gifts).



**2402**

‘Brothers,' Justin had called them sometimes, when they were growing up. It was only ever from Justin. Jordan carefully avoided the word, though it took Grant a while to notice. He probably didn't do it consciously, but "consciously" was a more complicated concept for CITs than for azi. Jordan called Grant "son," which was enough to make an eight year old happy. Jordan called him "my other son."

Other.

"Hey," fifteen-year-old Justin called, knocking on Grant's door. Grant waved at the Minder to let him in. "You still working on that psychset? Can I see?"

Grant blinked at him. "You're supposed to be in Novgorod." With Julia and the others. Outside Reseune, where Grant could never go.

Justin shrugged, and flopped down on Grant's bed, elbow brushing against Grant's thigh. "That group is boring," he said. "Rather spend time with my brother."

He tried so hard to make the word casual, but he never succeeded. It would always be a deliberate statement. Grant wished he knew whether the statement was intended for Grant, for Justin himself, or for the rest of the world. He understood that it was important to Justin to call them brothers, but it made Grant warm and uncomfortable at the same time. It was another reminder that Justin was always, always being careful of Grant.

Because of Jordan. Because of Justin, seven years old, screaming that he needed an explanation for why his solution to a math problem was wrong, not just a black X, and Jordan Warrick, whose voice had been raised, going dangerously even and saying, "Look what you're doing to Grant, Justin."

Grant, curled up under the table, trapped in panic because his Supervisor who was Always Right was fighting with Justin, who was _Justin_ , who Grant had been programmed to love.

All the fight had gone out of Justin immediately, replaced by horrified guilt. Even then Justin was so vulnerable to guilt. "I'm sorry," he'd said, to his father, to Grant. "I'm sorry." He'd crouched down by the table. "Grant, it's all right, I'm sorry for scaring you."

After that Grant saw Justin's anger constantly turned inward, except for when they were ten and another boy learned enough about azi programming to torment Grant, and Justin kicked the boy in the ribs and face, shouting at him to leave his brother alone. Jordan had been called, in the middle of his busy workday, after a teacher had pulled Justin off the other boy. Grant had been sent to the hospital for adjustments and extra tape, and Justin had refused to leave him.  
  


* * *

  
**2404**

“They made me your Supervisor, legally,” Justin said. His face screwed up. “I hate saying that, I hate the whole damn thing. You need a hell of a lot less supervision than I do, that’s for sure.”

Maybe if Grant were a born-man like Justin, he’d be feeling the same panic Justin was. But he was calm, and could just lie there, breathing easy, looking at Justin’s face. “That’s good,” Grant said. “I mean, I’d be in deep trouble if they hadn’t done that.”

“You’re not taking the tape,” Justin said. He swallowed. “I’m being selfish here. I can’t, Grant, all right? I can’t supervise anyone and especially not you. I need you.”

“I need you,” would get him almost anything, from Grant, but on this point- Grant looked at him steadily. Justin knew as well as he did that an azi needed a Supervisor. Needed to know there was someone to go to, even if it never became necessary. And Justin was the only person in the whole universe Grant trusted any more.  
  
Justin looked away first. "Fine," he said, very quietly, and at last Grant felt ashamed.

 

* * *

 

**2412**

This wasn't healthy. Grant knew it wasn't healthy, of course he did, and Justin had to know it too, they both worked psychsets for a living, they knew the textbook definition of codependence, the dangers when it was coupled with isolation. But they hadn't chosen this, it was forced on them by Reseune. Ariane Emory sealed both their fates when they were only children. And it was hard to see anything wrong with it when there was a soft knock on the board between their cubicles and he looked up to Justin's weary smile, "Take you to dinner?" and Grant smiled back and stepped out and their shoulders bumped, and it felt like Grant's entire body relaxed, overcome by the greatest sense of safety he ever felt. Justin's touches were both casual and not. The shoulder bump was small, a simple sign of comradery, and Justin gave it every day at the same times, safe and comfortable routine, and it was more than enough for Grant, for all he was programmed to be tactile. At night they touched, of course, but Justin kept sexual contact carefully separate from nonsexual intimacy. They fell asleep holding onto each other, and that was routine also.

Grant thought he flashed less than Justin, though he couldn't be sure. It was probably easier for him, because he could retreat into azi logic. Someone, a stranger sometimes, looked at him, or spoke to him in a particular way, and he was back in a dark room, mind scattered, jittering back and forth between _don't think, don't think, just answer, just obey,_ and, _Justin said he'd come back._ But after the first time he wrote himself a program for that, so he'd walk to wherever Justin was and say, "You're here," and Justin would take his hand and tell him, "Yes. I told you I would be."

One time it was a lot worse, and after he couldn't even remember what the trigger was. He came back slowly, it took him a long time to understand that he was at home in their apartment, sitting on the couch, looking at nothing. Longer to feel the couch beneath him and Justin's hand, sweaty palm against his, their fingers laced. He turned his head slightly. Justin's eyes were closed but Grant could tell he'd been crying. He was slumped exhausted against the arm of the couch.

"Hi," Grant said.

Justin's eyes flew open and he stared at Grant for a few seconds before speaking. "Oh God," he said. "Oh God." His voice was hoarse, almost a whisper.

"That was a deviation from average," Grant said. He was still disoriented and a bit unsure what was going on. "You know, maybe I should write a paper. How are you doing?"

"How am I doing?" Justin asked. His voice cracked. He swallowed. "It was hours," he said. "I was sure you weren't coming back. I was trying to psych myself up to take you to Yanni."

"I'm very grateful you didn't do that," Grant said. His voice didn't seem connected to him. But there was too much detail for tape. The art in the apartment, the sweaty heat of Justin's hand. "Please never do that."

"Grant," Justin said. Angry, and scared. "This is really serious. You never got proper treatment. It's dangerous."

"Neither did you," Grant pointed out. "How many times a week does Yanni tell you to see a psychologist?"

"It's not the same," Justin said.

"Because I'm azi," Grant said. "More fragile. It's all right. I'll write myself code."

"Grant, you're not objective."

"You write it then."

Justin went white. "No."

"Then let me make my own decisions, all right?"

Justin let go of his hand and stood up. He walked across the room, picked up a glass off the side table. "We shouldn't be having this conversation right now."

Because of Grant's state, or because of the bugged apartment? Either way he was right.

But then Justin laughed. "That's hypocritical of me," he said. "God. I was talking to you for hours."

That explained the hoarse voice.

"Just going on and on about the stupidest things. I hope you never remember. I was just. God. I'd be a mess without you. Well, more of a mess." He put the glass down, turned around. "Are you up for a walk?"

Grant nodded, but he reached for Justin's hand to pull himself up.

They went to the fishpond, like always. Grant wondered, for the first time, what this pond might be like if it were outside of Reseune's all-enclosing walls, in a truly natural environment. Reseune's gardens pretended at nature, but the only time one could really approach it was at the edge of the weather-grids, when a storm front breached the colossal walls. Grant's only experience with nature had been the river, and he didn't like to think about that much, but for a moment he closed his eyes and imagined standing in a field, on the edge of a pond, a slight breeze ruffling his hair and clothing, in the gray light at the end of a long day. Not on Cyteen, or unimaginably distant Earth, or any other known planet. In his daydream he was alone, but when he opened his eyes Justin was there. Grant waited quietly for Justin to speak.

"When I went to get you at the hospital, that night," Justin said. "I thought you might be gone and I- I'd have to sign to-" He stopped.

Grant had known since he started reading Reseune protocols that azi who broke irreparably were- terminated, the techs called it. Or "put down," if they were feeling more sympathetic. He'd never known how to feel about it. When he applied it to himself, he didn't know, if he would have wanted to live on for years, trapped in the dark room, kept alive on the hope that he might someday find his way out. It wouldn't have happened, no one spent those resources on broken azi, who were after all so easily replaceable. He supposed Justin might have wanted to, but it wouldn't have been his choice, it would have depended on whether Reseune thought it worth it to keep Grant around comatose as emotional leverage on Justin.

"It was my fault, wasn't it," Justin said. "I mean, obviously it was all my fault, but that last bit specifically, because I told you I'd be there, and I wasn't. I was being fucking psychprobed, I was in that damn cell. I wasn't there, I lied to you."

"You saved me," Grant said. "They broke everything down, and nothing was real but you. You came. A little late, but you showed up. It's fine."

Justin didn't bother to call him on that. He stared down at the fish. "I wish I could promise I'll always be there," he said. "That, Grant, that's the worst damn thing they did, out of all of it. Made that a lie, made it so it'll always be a lie."

"It's always a lie," Grant said. "Life's too complex. Flux always happens. Born-men change. It's no one's fault." They were both thinking of Jordan, he was sure. "That's not what's important. It's not about truth or lie."

"Then what is it about?"

"I can't put it into words," Grant said. "Not yet. I'm working on it."

"Get back to me on it," Justin said. He reached, wrapped his arm around Grant's waist and pulled him close, apparently heedless of the fact that they were in public, though almost no one came to this courtyard at this time of day anyway.

This, Grant thought, relieved. This is what it's about.

 

* * *

  


**2423**

After they’d left Jordan and Paul at their new apartment- not as opulent as their old one, but Jordan had affected not to notice, and Paul hadn’t complained- they stumbled home, Grant and Justin, drunk- Justin significantly so, Grant just a bit tipsy. When Justin got overwhelmed he talked a lot and drank whatever he was handed. When Grant was overwhelmed he shut down, went azi. It was something he was often self conscious about, but tonight it had worked in their favor. They got back to Wing One faster with one of them walking straight.

The cold spring air of the quadrangle did its work and Justin was able to let go of Grant to climb the stairs. Grant flashed his pass against the door scanner, they walked side by side past the new azi guards and down the corridor to their rooms. The strange, monochrome rooms still didn’t feel like home, but they felt about as safe as anywhere else.

Justin collapsed on the couch and lay there, breathing heavily, for a bit. Grant went into the kitchen to get them both water. When he came back in Justin was sitting up with his pad out. The backlight washed Justin’s face in pale yellow. Grant put a glass of water on the coffee table in front of him, and then retired to the armchair across from the couch, and pulled out his own work. He supposed he was just as wound up as Justin, and wouldn’t have been able to sleep either.

At 3AM Justin switched off his pad and stood up. He walked into the bedroom, then came out a moment later, when he realized Grant wasn’t following. He stood there in the doorway, just looking at Grant. Patiently waiting.

Grant’s instinct was to not say anything. He never wanted to lay more on Justin, especially not now, when Justin had been missing and in danger for days and he’d just gotten him back, and Justin was worked up from the reunion with Jordan, and they both needed their sleep. But he thought about how much he’d hate it if Justin kept quiet to spare his feelings. He’d think Justin was going Supervisor on him and he’d hate it.

And Justin was angry too. The thing was, Grant didn’t know exactly what about. Couldn’t guess if voicing his own feelings would help Justin or hurt him.

Grant said, slowly and clearly, “He’s not my father.”

Justin rocked back on his feet a little. Grant watched him steady himself against the wall. Watched him open his mouth, then close it. No instant denials. Grant was both glad and tremendously pained by that.

“He hugged me,” Grant said. “Called me son. Asked me lots of questions about how I was doing. But you were the one he really talked to. And you’re the one he got angry at, for letting Ari have us. I suppose I’ve known it for years but- he and Paul were so kind to me, when I went to Planys. It felt like having fathers. But no azi have fathers. It was stupid to think I might be an exception.”

“He’s just being- he’s just being Jordan, right now,” Justin said. “It’s his first night back. He’s overwhelmed at it, and fluxed as hell over having a new Ari to deal with. I can’t blame him for that, but it made him an ass tonight.”

“It wasn’t just tonight,” Grant said quietly. He didn’t need to list out the evidence. Justin knew it, had always known it. Grant walked over to him.

“I know it used to make you happy, calling us brothers,” Grant said. “But while I can’t claim to truly understand the natural-born concept of brotherhood… I don’t think brothers usually do this.” He trailed his fingertips down the side of Justin’s face and over his mouth. Felt it when Justin reluctantly half-smiled.

"It's all right," Grant said, "It's all right," and it was. He'd rather have Justin than Jordan. That was no contest at all.


End file.
